


Your Scream is a Masterpiece

by Anonymous



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bloodplay, Crying, Extreme narcissism, F/M, Face Slapping, Knifeplay, Narcissism, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Cutting, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Violence, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Punching, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Stabbing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Victim Blaming, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29897832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The morning after the attack you woke to find your hands untied and a letter from Ji-Woon on your nightstand.
Relationships: Ji-Woon Hak | The Trickster/Reader, Ji-Woon Hak/Reader, The Trickster/Reader
Kudos: 28
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter gives background information. The second chapter is the explicit part. Note: I changed the spelling of certain names on purpose.

Hey,

I have clear memories of the night we met backstage. It was December 20th, Los Angeles, on NO SPIN’s first world tour. You scored a backstage pass through your journalist friend and it was clear you didn’t belong there. You were nervous when your friend abandoned you backstage. Staff members rushed by you, they asked you to move out of the way, and you looked like you were about to cry. The other members noticed you but didn’t give a shit. One of them joked about how desperate you looked. You tried to dress edgy with your arms covered in cheap fishnet stockings and studded bracelets, as if you were trying to match the theme of our last comeback. I approached you as a joke, to mess with you…but I fell for you. You gave in easily and giggled at everything I said. You covered your mouth, shocked and holding your breath, as I added you in KakaoTalk. I sent you a message: a sparkle emoji. You messaged back three sparkle emojis and a heart.

I couldn’t see you for months after the concert but I messaged you everyday. It was only a few times a day between practice, filming, recording, and whatever other NO SPIN bullshit was scheduled. It was enough to make you happy, wasn’t it? I wondered if you told your friends about me, if you showed them my messages, if you were lightheaded everytime your phone dinged from a notification. I wished I could see your reaction...that’s what I enjoyed the most.

The second time we met in LA, I took you shopping in Melrose and we had dinner at Mosteria Ozza. I wore sunglasses and a hat the whole time, even inside the restaurant, to avoid being recognized. I hated going lowkey...but I did it for you. Then I fucked up the appetizer order because I forgot you didn’t like whatever meat it was...but I ate it for you and held your hand during the wait for the main dishes. 

“I wish I could see your eyes.” You narrowed your eyes and moved closer in an attempt to peer through the pitch black lenses. I lifted them for a second to give you a look. I remember how you smiled then. I was relieved by your smile.

There was something you wanted to say during dessert but you were nervous. I pushed you to tell me but you turned away and your cheeks went red. I grabbed your arm and pulled you closer. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”

“I really like you,” you whispered.

Hearing that, I wanted to pick you up and never let you go. “I like you too,” I told you, and I fed you a piece of the salted caramel tart.

Outside the restaurant, I offered to take you back to my hotel but you made an excuse to go home. I was disappointed, but assumed you were too nervous.

Over the next two months our chat was crowded with romantic and thirsty messages. You sent me photos of your tits. They were covered at first, then in bras, and then with nothing in the way. One day, you sent me a photo of yourself taking a bath and rubbing your bubble covered boobs. I got off on those photos everyday...knowing how much you wanted me.

We planned for a visit when I next traveled to Los Angeles to film a competition show. I had to run around the city with one of my bandmates on a stupid scavenger hunt. I pretended to be excited running around tourist traps and trendy areas I’d already seen...but, in the end, we were beat by the other teams. As a joke punishment, they made us losers do the remainder of the show wearing goofy big nose glasses. The fans later posted compilations laughing about it. Some of them noticed how grumpy I was for the rest of the show. Some even complained about my attitude. The company talked to me about it. “That’s not part of your persona,” they said, “You’re wild and tough but...positive! You can’t appear so sour, especially in a silly, fun game that’s supposed to bring enjoyment to the fans. If you can’t control yourself, you let all of your bandmates and the entire company down.” After a lengthy lecture, they forced me to film an extra video playing games, performing songs, and acting like my “typical” self to be posted to social media for damage control. That was on the day we were supposed to see each other. So, I was robbed of my free time and forced on a plane back to Korea the next day. 

Your messages slowed after I missed that visit. I tried to continue as normal but...you weren’t as enthusiastic. How could you lose enthusiasm for a celebrity? When you’re a nobody? I still don’t get it. There would be other chances for us to meet in Los Angeles...why lose steam over one time?

Already upset and not getting along with my bandmates, the added awareness of you slipping out of my grip...it was too much. Honestly, I was depressed. 99% of the time I kept calm but one damn night, I let you know. I told you, straight up, “I’m lonely.” 

I remember most details of the time I spent with you but...I forgot the words in your response. What you said was so traumatic that my mind blocked the memory. All I remember is that you were uncaring.

So I typed, “Fuck you.” At the time, I was in the audience during an award show, already in trouble for texting, but a cameraman caught me throwing down my phone, breaking it on the ground, and walking off in the middle of another boyband’s performance.

It became a scandal. The second of my only two screw ups, one after the other (thanks to you). Luckily it was buried under a solo artist’s drug scandal a couple days later. Still, I was removed from my position as the center for the next comeback. I had most of the line distribution in the song but the camera focused more on other members throughout the MV. 

All because you didn’t care enough about me.

I tried to message you again but you exploded. You claimed that I’m a narcissist, that I’m abusive, that I triggered you multiple times, and you thought I acted maliciously towards you. You described innocent moments in our relationship as being sinister somehow.

That was the biggest bullshit I ever heard. All I wanted was to be with you, to get closer to you, to spend as much time as I could WITH YOU. But I AM FAMOUS. I have responsibilities. I’m busy. You’re not. You don’t fucking understand that I was doing all I could, given the fact that I wasn’t allowed to date and the risk I took in my career for being with you. If I was so selfish, I wouldn’t be with you in the first place. My life and my world...is OTHER PEOPLE. I sacrifice my time for everyone around me, for my parents, for my company, the fans, and I GIVE MYSELF to them because I have talents that the world needs and I have ART to spread. You’re fucking selfish thinking you should have me and my time all to yourself. You fucking bitch.

Before you could utter the words to dump me, I blurted out, “I’m done with you.” and I blocked you. I got rid of you first.

A while after, the fire happened. I was reborn as The Trickster and I awakened to what I truly crave in life. I made new music, saw new people, and as a solo artist, I focus 100% on devoting myself to art.

But every time I visited LA, you lingered in the pits of my mind. You were unfinished business.


	2. Chapter 2

The #1 reason I'm writing is to provide you with a detailed account of last night’s events. I’m worried your brain might erase the details, as my brain erased your response to my loneliness...and I don't want you to forget.

You thought you were alone in your apartment last night until I flung a knife into your back. You screamed, your arm shook as you reached for the blade, you crouched, and glanced behind. Our eyes met. I chuckled as I raised my bat, ran at you, and whacked your head to knock you out.

I tied you up with knots twisted from neon rope, covered your head with a shoe bag, and threw you into the trunk of my rented vehicle.

I placed you on a metal chair in the center of an abandoned building and pulled the bag off your head. Then, cut the rope off your legs but left your hands tied. You were still unconscious. I checked your pulse to make sure you were still alive. It would be so disappointing to find you dead before the start of the show....but your pulse was regular. So, I bided my time setting up the microphones and recording equipment. I lined up my weapons in front of you, placing my bat and my knives, 20 of them, side by side. In my hand I held the one I ripped out of your back and twirled it as I stared at your pathetic, limp body. 

Impatient, I pulled you off the chair, set you on your back, lifted your legs, then tossed them back onto the floor. You shifted but didn’t wake. I sat on your belly and threw my fist at your breastbone. You whimpered and your eyes struggled open.

“Did you miss me?” I asked.

You didn’t answer. You groaned and closed your eyes again. 

I slapped your face. “Wake up and answer me.”

You raised your eyelids and uttered, “No…”

I smacked you again, lifted you, and set you on the chair. “Don’t lie.” I picked up a knife from the ground and walked ten steps. With my back toward you, I tossed the knife behind...and it landed exactly where I wanted. I turned around to see the knife sunk into your left thigh. “Beautiful,” I said as I grabbed another knife and launched it into your right thigh. I paused to savor your screams before I walked over to the recording equipment. I stopped recording, went back in the file, and replayed your sounds.

“Ooooh,” I said. I looked at you shivering in the chair. “I’m getting ideas…” I pressed ‘record’, stepped over, lifted another knife, and pointed at you. “Want another?”

“No,” you begged me, “Please...stop...I’ll do anything...but please don’t kill me.”

I kept the knife directed at you. “Anything?” I ran my fingers through your hair and took in the sight of your desperation...and your need for me...to listen, to take pity on you. “Would you be my girl again?” I asked.

“Y...yes.” You nodded.

I smiled...faintly, as I watched the tears seething from your eyes. My smile became a grin. “Really?”

“Yes, please…don’t kill me.” 

Your eyes were so watery I could almost make out my reflection in them. I stepped back and set down my knife. The room was hot and stuffy so I threw my jacket to the floor next to the weapons, then I lifted my shirt and pulled it over my head. I tossed it to the floor and caught your eyes on my body.

I stepped forward and pressed my fingers against the knife in your left thigh. You wailed so I pressed harder, orchestrating an increase in the volume of your cries.  
“That’s right,” I said, “Louder.” I grabbed the handle and ripped out the blade. As requested, you screeched louder. I watched the blood gush from your wound. “Mmm,” I said as I fingered the hole and applied pressure. I pushed my finger harder against the wound until you cried again.

I moved my attention to the knife lodged in your right thigh, forced a finger against it, and asked, “You still find me hot, yeah?”

“...I do,” you said as you breathed harder. Your breaths picked up pace until you were hyperventilating. 

“Calm down,” I told you, “It’s only a little knife. What? You don’t want me to pull this one out?”

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” you let out between breaths.

I grabbed the handle, tore it out of your leg, and chuckled as you screamed. I pressed my tongue to the blade and licked off the blood. “Mmmmm It’s extra salty.” I threw it to the floor, grabbed your face, and traced your lines of tears with the tip of my tongue. “I’ll take this over fucking Mosteria Ozza anyway. This is a real meal.” I stepped back and kicked your chair, sending you crashing to the ground. You landed on your side, then rolled to your back. Your wounds must have pulsated with the pain, your head throbbed, and now your whole side must have felt bruised and sore.

I sang the chorus of Replay by shynEE as I made my way back to the recording equipment. Personally, I fucking hate that song...but it’s one I practiced to hell in my training days. I know it by heart. When we first messaged, you told me you wanted me to sing it on a karaoke date someday because it’s one of your favorites. It pissed me off when you mentioned shynEE, as they were completely different, from a different company. Sure, I was trained on most of their songs as I was molded into a versatile performer, a chameleon to be tossed into whatever group the company needed filled, and I hated comparisons to them…but I found the song fitting last night.

When I reached my equipment, I stopped singing and played your screams. I gave feedback on how perfect they were. You’re my best work so far.

You squirmed on the concrete floor, ass toward me, as I blasted the recording. The sight got my dick hard. I walked over and got down on my knees in front of your face. Your eyes lowered to my crotch.

“Tell me,” I said as I reached for your hair. I grabbed a fistful and pulled your head in front of my pants. “What were you thinking when you sent me that photo from the bathtub?”

“I...um…” You hesitated, your eyes lingering on the bulge in my pants.

“Come on, don’t make me slam your face on the floor.” I strengthened the grip on your hair.

“I thought of...you fucking me.”

“Mmmm.” With my other hand, I unzipped. “Describe your fantasy.”

“It...was...I don’t know…” You paused but I tugged on your hair. “I wanted you to fuck me hard,” you said.

I giggled and unbuttoned my pants. “In which hole?” When you didn’t answer, I pretended I was about to knock your head into the floor, only to pull your head back in the last second.

“Every...hole.”

Your words got me even harder, I couldn’t stand it. I pulled down my pants with my free hand and pulled your face toward my boxer briefs. I forced you against my cock, which was straining against my underwear and leaving a wet patch of precum. I humped against your face, rubbing that disgusting damp fabric against your lips, your cheeks, and your eyes. 

“You want me to take it out and fuck you?” I asked, “Beg for it.”

“I...I don’t,” you said.

I pulled your hair and slammed your face against the ground. The force caused your lip to split and the blood flowed onto the concrete. “Beg.” I wiped my finger against your bloody mouth, then sucked off the blood, looking into your eyes.

“Please, please...I need your cock.” 

“More.”

“I need your cock so bad.” Your eyes watered again. “I need it so bad, please.”

I pulled off the rest of my pants, then my underwear, before I positioned my thick cock at your lips and pushed it through. I put it all the way into your throat. You struggled as I banged into your face and picked up the pace. Your mouth brimmed with saliva, which poured out in thick drool between thrusts. I pulled out completely. You gasped and I shoved it back in pressing as deep into your throat as I could, making you gag before I pulled back, then I gagged you a second time, for longer, before I finally eased up. “This is what you wanted?” I asked. You responded with a series of moans against my cock. “Yeah?” I asked, “This is what you dreamed of?” I finally pulled out and observed the drool and blood cascading from your mouth onto the concrete.

I grabbed another knife and sliced at your clothing, ripped your top apart, and tore the pieces away. I snipped off your bra to reveal your breasts. They were so much better in person than in the photos. So beautiful to fondle, so soft, I couldn’t help bending over and kissing at your nipples. Soon the kissing turned to biting, until I could provoke a squeal from you. I pressed my knife in a line across your breasts. And did it a second time to create two shallow lines oozing with blood. I fondled your breasts again and smeared the blood until they were covered in red. I then cut at your sweatpants, ripped a hole in the crotch, and expanded it with my hands until the sweatpants fell apart. I sliced at the sides of your panties before I tore them away. With my fingers soaked in your blood, I rubbed against your vulva. You were already soaked before I touched you, so wet it was ridiculous. I rubbed upwards and lingered on your clit, circling it, and transferred the blood from my fingers. Then I bent down and licked up all the blood. I repeated the process. I grabbed for the cuts on your breasts, covered my fingers, then rubbed the blood onto your clit, then lapped it up again. The third time, I noticed your body relax and you were getting close to orgasm.

I slapped your face and your cunt. “No,” I said, “Not yet. The only way I’ll let you orgasm is while you’re screaming.”

I slapped you again on your vulva, you squealed, and I jammed a finger into your vagina, followed by another finger, then forced a finger up your ass. You were too tense, not taking it well, so I smacked you in the face again. I fucked you with my fingers until you relaxed, then pulled them out.

I grabbed my bat and forced the handle into your hole. “No, please…” You sobbed as I prodded you and pushed the handle deeper. I twirled the bat within you and laughed. I worked it in and out...in and out and rubbed your clit with my other hand...until you got the handle dripping wet. I jerked it out and cast it aside. 

Dick in hand, I pressed against your pussy and pushed in. At once you tightened up and tried to close your legs but I spread you apart and persisted. “Come on, bitch,” I said as I plunged into you. “This is what you wanted.” I grabbed your legs in my hands and raised them up so I could get deeper into you. I thrust deep, let go of one leg, and grabbed my knife again. I sliced at your skin as I humped, painting several lines gushing blood on your arms, breasts, and belly. 

Thrust, slice, thrust, slice, thrust, slice.

You screamed every time I did it. I laughed as I fucked you and looked down to watch my dick, covered from the dripping blood, ramming in and out of your hole. I thrust again and sliced at your cheek.

“Ji-Woon,” you said, “Please…”

I slapped the cut on your cheek and you shrieked. I moaned when I felt you tighten around my dick as you did it. “Please what?” I asked.

“Stop,” you said, but I only fucked you harder. You screamed for a long time after that and each jab of my cock caused your voice to waver, your scream to distort and weaken. The sound was getting me closer. You told me to stop but I only felt you getting wetter amid your pussy’s wild contractions.

It was time to fuck your asshole. I pulled out of your vagina and reached down to coat my hand with more blood and fluid to wipe around my cock before I pressed into your ass. I went at a slower pace at first...but didn’t go easy on you. You burst into tears and cried out again. I pulled out, turned you around, and fucked your ass from behind. With my knife, I sliced fresh cuts along your back at varied lengths. It began to resemble abstract art. The wails you let out, combined with my moans, had perfect harmony. I marveled at the perfection of my cock tearing up your ass. As I inched closer to orgasm, I threw down my knife and began to pummel you. You screamed the hardest as my fists bashed against your skin, as my cock dug as deep as it could into your ass, as I left you littered with blood and bruises.

I wanted to see your face so I turned you on your back again and spit on your face. “Scream my name!” I ordered as I fucked your ass, my fist raised and ready to smash against your face.

“Ji-Woon!” You said my name...and continued to scream.

I pulled out and positioned myself above your sliced cheek, pumping out the hot cum over the wound, over your eyes, and into your screaming mouth. Your scream was garbled and weak as the cum poured into your mouth but still beautiful, emotional, and exactly what I wanted.

I left you naked and covered in cum on the floor as I put on my clothes. My phone rang. It was one of the producers so I stepped outside to take the call. When I came back, you were silent with your eyes closed, blood still oozing and pouring from some of your wounds. I squatted near you and stared at your face. I scooped you up, held you in my arms, and pressed my lips against yours. In my mind, I pretended...we were in the past. I pretended I took you back to my place from that restaurant and I was kissing you...pure, gentle, with love? I let go of you and your body crashed to the floor.

That’s when I decided not to kill you, not like the others. I want more from you. Given our past, we deserve more from each other...and you can contribute to my music more than any other person.

That’s why I brought you back to your home, bathed you, tucked you into bed, and now I’m writing this letter as you sleep next to me.

I want you to know that, even after you wake up and find that you're untied, you can’t do anything about this. Physically, your hands are free but, mentally, you're mine. You can’t put me behind bars. If you try, your family is dead. I will destroy everything you care about. You might assume that you’re safe when you see me busy in Korea but I have the fame to get others to do it when I can’t do it myself. And I have the fame to cover shit up. You’re a nobody. You’re never safe. And I’ll come for you again, bitch. I want to make a whole album from your cries.

Signed, 

Your best boyfriend ever, Ji-Woon


End file.
